


the way you leave me wanting (keeps me coming back for more)

by midwesterosi



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: BDSM, Dom/sub, F/M, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Keep the Mask On, Kink, Triggers, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-17
Updated: 2016-04-01
Packaged: 2018-05-27 09:05:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6278245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midwesterosi/pseuds/midwesterosi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'“Please, don’t,” she says because this is what she is supposed to say. She is not supposed to want this.' dark!!kink!reylo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the beast in chains

**Author's Note:**

> First off: this is not a nice fic. Please, if you have any aversion to sex, violence, or sex and violence turn back now. Trigger warnings like whoa. That being said: I feel like I’ve reached a new personal level of trash-hell with this fic. Go team trash!

the way you leave me wanting (keeps me coming back for more)  
part one: the beast in chains

 

The cool metal of the bindings chaffs against her skin when she tries to let her arms go lax and already there is a tingling in her fingertips as her blood struggles to circulate. Grasping the chains Rey attempts to pull herself up to alleviate the pressure on her wrists, but is set off-balance by the matching cuffs around her ankles, splaying her wide and holding her in place. She can feel his presence behind her as he watches the conflict in amusement, but she can’t turn her head in this position to meet his gaze. 

Rey senses Kylo Ren’s intentions the moment before he moves, the sound of long-strided steps proceeding the weight of his palm as it slides possessively up the curve of her spine starting from the base. Fabric gathers in his hand until he has enough to hold onto, brutally tugging her backwards. The chains rattle loudly in the still air, covering the sound of her gasp.

“Scavenger,” the growl of his voice filtered through the mask is somewhere between a greeting and a threat. 

“I’m not giving you anything,” she glares defiantly into the middle-distance, head held high in pride. 

His chuckle, the sound perverted by the vocoder, seems to echo through the chambers, surrounding her senses and reverberating in her bones. “Good,” his tone is genuinely pleased, “I’m not in a particularly patient mood, anyway.”

Rey expects the sudden invasion of her psyche, her mind cracking open like an egg, the yolk laid bare before his insatiable hunger. Kylo slips into her consciousness completely unimpeded by her meager attempts at defense, unsure if she wants to keep him out or draw him deeper, drown him in her sorrows. She sees the ocean. Smells the salt on the air.

The hand at the small of her back tightens to the point that the coarse fabric of her clothing stifles her, pulled too taunt against her figure. There is the soft sound of ripping as the seams begin to give way. His other hand fists in her hair, pulling her nearer his gravity as she desperately tries to push him away with what little leverage she has available to her, until the entire line of her body is drawn taunt as a bow. He is the archer and she the weapon he wields, fearing the moment of release, unable to control the violence he has directed her toward. 

Secretly, fiercely, she yearns for the violence; wants to sink her teeth into him, to bite and gnash until there’s little left but ruined flesh and broken bones. She wants to watch him writhe. Even as she seeks to guard these thoughts, bury them deep in disgust, he clumsily presses an image of the two of them into the forefront of her mind; wrapped up in one another, both covered in bruises and blood and she knows he wants it, too. He wants to dominate and be beaten in turn, seeks the humiliation of submitting and the solace of surrender. 

“Don’t,” Rey hates how much like begging the word sounds coming out of her treacherous mouth, but hates herself more for the way the shame of being brought so low before him churns in her gut before transforming into something else entirely. Something dangerous with teeth and claws. She imagines she hears the Dark Side calling her, but it’s only the sound of blood rushing through her ears. 

He leans forward, pressing chest to back and hip to hip, until he looms over her, the sharp edge of his mask digging into the sensitive skin of her chin and collarbone, the metal cold against the curve of her neck. “Tell me about the Resistance.”

She wants bitterly to laugh, surprised he’s still pretending that this is about the Resistance. “They’re a lovely group of people, really, led by General Organa. Maybe you’ve heard of her?”

“Scavenger,” he is incensed, shaking her by the hair to still her rambling mouth, “don’t toy with me. You won’t like the consequences.” He forces another image through their shared consciousness: her bare-assed, pants hastily pulled down to her knees, her exposed skin red and swollen, his hand hovering above her readying another blow, her slit weeping with want. 

The fantasy sends of flash of heat straight through her core, making her pulse with need, and she hate, hate, hates it. She brings her knees together, trying to alleviate some of the tension with friction, but the hand in her hair quickly unwinds itself and settles on her hip in warning. “If you'd like for me to stop, just give me what I desire.”

This time she does laugh, a short bark of derision. “I know what you desire,” she hurls the word back at him with malice, suggestively shoving her hips into his while simultaneously broadcasting her own dark version of make-believe: him on his knees, one eye swollen shut and already blossoming into a fine bruise the color of violets, while the other glowers up at her full of insolence. In the vision, she reaches out to smear blood from a cut on his lip across his face before coming back to dip her dirty fingers in his wanting mouth. 

He snarls and through the mask it is a sound of pure evil and feral intentions. Rey thinks she has pushed him too far and can’t help the way the mere idea of it thrills her, wondering what her punishment might be.

“If you want to be punished, dear girl,” she gasps, realizing he has heard this thought as clear as though she uttered it aloud, “all you have to do is ask.”

“Please, don’t,” she says because this is what she is supposed to say. She is not supposed to want this. 

“What phrase will you use if you need me to stop?” She shouldn’t understand his meaning so easily. She shouldn’t have an answer already waiting on her lips.

But she does. 

“Takodana.” 

“What can I have?” He’s so greedy she can taste it. 

“What will you take?” Rey hesitates to ask. 

Kylo hums in appreciation. “Whatever I want.”

She has already lost. “Yes.” 

 

 

end part one.


	2. a collar for a dog; a kiss for his bride

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lord Vadar forgive me, for I have sinned. Seriously guys, I lay awake at night and think to myself, “What is the filthiest smut I can write about these two?” So this happened.  
> Thank you so much to everyone who has supported the fic thus far! I’m really overwhelmed by how great this fandom is.

the way you leave me wanting (keeps me coming back for more)  
part two: a collar for a dog; a kiss for his bride

 

Kylo steps back, leaving her bereft and shivering at the sudden chill where his warmth had already settled into her skin. His grip on her clothing slowly loosens until only his fingertips remain, absentmindedly tracing nonsense patterns against her spine as he considers her. Rey quickly grows frustrated with the gesture, far too intimate for her liking. Much too gentle.

“What are you waiting for?” She practically growls, impatient for the promise of punishment.

“Hush,” Kylo admonishes her quietly, seemingly content to watch her struggle in equal parts yearning and mortification. From far away she sees herself twist with want and is disgusted by her neediness in the face of his utter calm.

He drags the flat of his hand around her waist, coming to rest low on the planes of her stomach, but still far higher than she prefers. His long fingers splay wide across her torso trapping her against his frame once more. Triumph sears through her, hot and heady, immediately followed by guilt for taking such pleasure in the subtle contact.

“Tell me what you desire.” It is a command, not a question, yet defiance still burns in her heart.

“Why? Are you feeling generous?” She wants to mock him even now. Especially now.

“Hmmn, perhaps,” the low hum vibrates through her senses, “or perhaps it is the only thing I won’t take.”

This intrigues her. Rey tries to be clever, to word her response so that she might get what she wants without sacrificing her pride, but Kylo senses her stalling and pinches the flesh of her hipbone hard; sure to leave a bruise.

“Tell me.” His hand moves so quickly she has little time to guess its trajectory before he has her nipple twisted between his fingers, the sensation immediately passing through pleasure and straight into pain. She cries out unintelligibly – a desperate sound somewhere between a shout and a moan – trying to simultaneously arch away from his touch and greedily press herself into it. “Rey,” there is a firm edge to his voice that leaves no room for disobeying, “tell me.”

“I want . . .” Her lips move, but no sound comes out, her body betraying her ego.

“Show me.” There is a compulsion in the command, a subtle touch of the Force that has her spilling wide open.

He penetrates her easily, the intimate coupling of their collective consciousness flares so bright she loses herself in it for a moment before another violent tug at her breast grounds her once more in reality. Her darkest fantasies spring to life, superimposed on their settings like a hologram, each varied and sorted; full of whips and chains, leather and red skin and welts. In some their roles are the opposite of current circumstance, in which she wields the power and he lays trembling and humbled at her mercy. He lingers on these thoughts, selfishly storing them away for later, before delving deeper, finding her secrets and rendering them obsolete with gleeful abandon.

He catches an image of her under him gasping his true name while he holds her down and whispers filthy words into her ear and presents it to her like a prize. In another vision she’s screaming how much she hates him while he takes her from behind, her hair fisted in his hands like reins. He unearths fantasies she hadn’t even been aware she’d been harboring until the moment they flash behind her eyes, but these figments are painfully familiar, a dream suddenly recalled in the middle of the day.

“Would that there was enough time, you greedy little thing,” Kylo’s teasing absolutely incenses her. She twists wildly, railing against the chains that bind her.

“Shut up!”

“You first.” And just like that she’s rendered completely speechless as he steals her voice as simply as turning a switch. Rey gapes, fruitlessly searching for the knot he has tied in the Force, leaving her unable to utter even a squeak of protest. “Now, I would say sit back and enjoy,” she can feel his grin against her neck through their bond, all sharp teeth and dark humor, “but I’m not sure that’s exactly what you’re angling for.”

 _‘I hate you, I hate you, I hate you,’_ she screams though the connection in their minds, but his only response is a deep sense of satisfaction that leaves her weak with wanting. She slumps in defeat, knows she is well and truly lost.

There is no great sense of urgency in his actions as he moves to undress her, hands lingering over the swell of her hips and fingers dipping into the hollow of her knees to tickle the sensitive skin as he pools her pants around her ankles. He makes little effort to remove her top, merely reaches in and rips the fabric aside, pushing her bindings down roughly until her breasts are exposed to the cool air of the chamber, her nipples already red and erect from his earlier attentions.

Rey imagines the scene from outside herself; her bare ass and breasts already aching for his touch, face contorted in equal parts longing and loathing. She imagines what her friends would think of her if they knew, the looks of horror if they could see their dear, sweet, innocent Rey now. The shame of it all makes her slick with need.

His hands wander her exposed skin, twisting and pulling and salving in turns. Soundless little gasps leave her mouth, but the only noise is the tiny tinkling of chains every time she shifts. She likes the feeling of his warm leather gloves, the matte black dark against her dusky skin, the only part of him she can see in this position.

Finally, deliberately, his hands settle on her ass and she arches into him, groaning internally as he spreads her wide, and the cool air rushes in to tease her swollen lips. He palms the flesh of her inner thigh, the hard edge of his hand knifing across her slit with little regard for her pleasure. Even so, the visceral contact makes her writhe with want, seeking the friction of release, but too soon he pulls away, leaving her desperately longing for his touch. He chuckles darkly, watching her spasm uselessly, her body seeking to draw him in even still.

“So eager,” he is mocking her, as ever, “but not yet, I think.”

Her pulse hammers loudly in her ears, almost drowning out the sound of metal unfastening, the soft sigh of cloth before the hard creak of leather on leather as he wraps his belt around his fist. She wants to whimper, barely able to form a coherent thought around the sick rush of need that courses through her.

He slides the belt against the bow of her back, a warning and promise of what is to come. The cold heavy feeling of metal brushes the cleft of her cheeks and it takes her a long moment to realize it’s the hilt of his lightsaber, still attached to its holster. The awareness of something so private and dangerous hovering near her entrance makes her dizzy with desire. Rey remembers the last time she watched him wield the blade in anger. Remembers cutting him down. Hopes to do it again.

Kylo taps her lightly with the loose coil of leather in his fist, harshly bringing her back to the present moment. She tries breathing shallowly through her nose as her heartrate increases dramatically. The knowledge that some inexorable line is about to be crossed, that pain and pleasure are short coming, spreads through her limbs like a drug.

She tries to seek his intentions through the bond to prepare herself for his assault – will the attack come all at once or in waves – but he shuts her out soundly. The belt sears across her left shoulder suddenly and without warning, the tip of the leather whipping around to sting the swell of her breast. The strike doesn’t hurt, exactly, but he has placed it in the last location she has prepared herself for and her skin sings at the unexpected sensation. She arches forward into the warmth of it, unwittingly presenting her bare upturned ass in the process.

The next blow comes quicker as he presses his advantage, feasting his attentions on the flesh so eagerly offered up to him. The leather lands heavily across both her cheeks and she jolts, legs spreading wide of their own volition. The balls of her feet ache as she stands on her tiptoes seeking to bring herself as close to the source of sweet agony as possible.

He is hitting her in earnest now, each blow burning her skin like a brand, his name articulated in every welt and red line left in the wake of his passion. Her fingers clutch at the air desperate and wild like claws as she shifts and moans wordlessly, still under whatever trick he has used to steal her voice. Her want is running down her legs like tributaries of the great roaring river of desire that is raging within her.

The strikes are intermittent and she has no way to gauge the next blow. The very first hard crack to her rear is followed by several short playful slaps to her arms. She has never realized how sensitive the area behind her elbows is until the moment his thumb glides gently over it, admiring his handiwork.

A few hits are sure to leave marks in the morning; tiny constellations wrote in black and blue and broken capillaries – little red dwarves in a galaxy of his making.

Now that her skin is boiling, Kylo doesn’t lash out as brutally. The leather welts, but he never quite breaks the meat and makes her bleed. Another time, perhaps. Instead, each blow is a strident slap against her flesh before sliding off her like a tender kiss goodbye.

His free hand moves, though she doesn’t know where until he shifts his position and the stinging sensation of frigid metal slides up her inner thigh. She is too shocked to move, every muscle tensed for fight or flight, unable to comprehend what he intends. The moment he presses the weapon between her hot aching lips he releases the geis from her voice and her coarse shout echoes through the room. She gasps deeply, as though all along he had been depriving her of air rather than speech.

“I hate you, please, I hate you, I hate you, please . . .” She’s a ruined mess, thrusting herself against the harsh textures and unforgiving planes of the hilt with wanton abandon, coating it in her essence.

The belt, forgotten until now, strikes her greedily and she chokes out a sob, eyes squeezed shut in ecstasy, mouth hanging open wide. He loops the free end of the coil over her head, pulling it taunt around her neck until she’s leaning back into his chest, resting on his shoulder while her hips roll lazily, still searching for friction. She catches her first real glimpse of him, or his mask at least. His head is turned away from her, seemingly disinterested in the half-naked mess of would-be Jedi in his arms, but she can feel him through their shared bond, his entire singular focus devoted to her pleasure. Even as he holds all of the power over her, he would deny her nothing. And she knows it.

“Don’t be so sure about that.” He unclasps the holster from his belt in a practiced motion and throws the lightsaber behind him where it clatters loudly against the wall. If she wasn’t so angry she would have been utterly shocked by such disregard of what should be his most prized possession. As it is, she is furious, ready to scream at him save the tightening of the belt around her throat, her shout ending in a gasp as he pushes her forward as far as the restraints will allow.

With one hand he holds the make-shift collar tight enough to cause warmth to blossom behind her ears and burning in her throat, but not so much as to choke. The other hand slaps the back of her thighs impatiently until she understands his meaning and spreads herself as far as she can to his touch. He slides the first finger into her easily, the gloves making the sensation strangely thick and the texture of the leather sinful against her burning flesh. Another digit finds her clit as he rocks his palm shallowly against her, leaving her a keening mess. She whines, utterly undignified, uncaring how far she has fallen, teeth clenched tight, lips drawn back in a grimace as heat threatens to overwhelm her.

“Don’t stop,” she begs, “please, don’t, please . . .” She almost weeps when he adds a finger to his ministrations, filling her completely. Her knees draw together, trapping his thumb between her thighs and making her lips blossom wide. He allows her this bliss for a few more thrusts before removing his hand completely.

Rey growls, low and utterly feral. “Don’t you dare! Don’t you farking dare!” Before she can break into his mind, bend him to her will, make him take her pleasure, Kylo is forced completely against her, the hard length of him buried in the cleft of her ass and his fingers once more spreading her wide. From this new vantage the hard plane of his palm presses into her clit with every thrust of his fingers.

She can feel the approach of her peak, praying feebly to whatever gods will listen that he won’t deny her this time. “Please, please, I need  . . .” but she doesn’t know, has never pushed herself passed this point and isn’t sure how to now. She can see it there, the bright promise of endless satisfaction and sensation, just out of reach. If only he’d –

“Come for me, Rey.”

And she does.  

 

 

 

end part two.


	3. my wild horses and my riverbeds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was all going to happen last chapter, but then the lightsaber thing came up so . . . here we are. Disclaimer: this is not how the Force works. Probably.  
> A huge thank you to everyone who has been commenting and leaving kudos! I always try to respond to comments so please let me know what you think!

the way you leave me wanting (keeps me coming back for more)  
part three: my wild horses and my riverbeds

 

Rey returns to herself slowly, limbs trembling with exhaustion while tiny shivers and aftershocks dance across her skin. Kylo leaves her little room for respite, still caging her body with his own, one hand softly kneading the flesh of her hip while the other trails light caresses along the column of her throat, the feeling bordering on ticklish.

“There’s a good girl,” he purrs and she absolutely loathes the way the praise fills her with delight.

“I hate you,” the words are bitter and defeated, an oft-used phrase that has lost all meaning over time and repetition.

“So you keep saying,” he squeezes the firm meat of her thigh possessively. Long fingers tease her swollen over-stimulated lips, collecting the essence still running down her legs, before he brings his hand to her mouth, letting her taste evidence of her shame. The smoky aroma of leather fills her senses, but underneath there is the tangy flavor of her own desire. He thrusts the digits against her tongue, a lewd mockery of other, more intimate, acts. “I wonder if you’d come this hard for someone you love?”

Rey groans helplessly around his knuckles, biting down hard, trapping him with her teeth. Kylo hisses loudly, the sound of it harsh and distorted so close to her ear, and presses himself between her naked cheeks, where she discovers him pulsing with need. His free hand finds her center and forces her hood back with nimble fingers, exposing her aching pearl to his attentions. Gasping, she loses hold of his fingers and arches wildly trying to evade his touch.

“No!” She shouts then shrieks as the sensations intensify, “No! No! No!” But this is not the phrase they have agreed upon, not the word that will free her from this torture, and so he takes no mercy on her body. Both of his hands work over her, spreading her wide and spilling her secrets with ruthless disregard for her want. He finds every aching yearning place and plunders it for its treasures; doesn’t relent until she is screaming, voice rung absolutely hoarse and echoing in the chamber, looping back on itself like a fugue. “Yes,” she’s sobbing, over and over again, “Please!”

“So, she can be taught,” his tone is so full of self-satisfaction she feels the safe-word hovering at the edge of her lips, unable to bear his triumph, “Now say, ‘Thank you, Master’.”

“Like hell, I will!”

Rey forgets the belt still around her throat entirely until the moment it chokes off her vicious retort. He draws her toward him, forces her to stare up into unforgiving planes of his mask, her wide-eyed expression reflected back at her in the visor. Arms akimbo and practically bent over backwards, she mewls, hips grinding shallowly against whatever friction he will allow her. The hand that still teases her core slows its frenzy until she no longer hovers on the precipice of completion, leaving her burning for release.

“What an ungrateful little girl you are,” Kylo sighs, sounding very put upon, indeed, “if you’re going to be like that . . . “ he lets the statement hang like a guillotine, a threat of violence to come. Or not. The leather around her neck loosens until it hangs lax like some sort of obscene necklace, a token of his brutal affections.

Finally, it slides from her skin completely innocuous, a snake without venom. He lets her go roughly, sending her off-balance, and moves well out of range. She can hardly believe her senses when she hears a buckle being fastened, the sound the lightsaber being holstered, and the tiny blips as he presses the exit-code. He’s leaving her here like this, utterly ruined and practically begging for more. Rey rails wildly against the bindings, tries to break into his mind and halt his progress, but he rebuffs her efforts, entirely unaffected by her tantrum. She hates him so much in this moment, but hates herself more because she still wants him. It is a want bordering on need and she despises it.

“Thank you,” even without the belt at her throat the words choke her one-by-one, little shards of broken glass that leave her bleeding as they pass her lips, “Master.”

She doesn’t hear him move so much as his utter stillness, every line frozen solid by her admission. He releases a deep shuddering breath, a sigh of absolution, and victory sears through her, knowing she has won at last, that he couldn’t walk away from her now if he wanted to. She almost hopes he tries so that she can draw him back, exercise this dangerous power she has over him.  

“Please, Master,” she shifts in place, almost sarcastic, knows that he’s watching her nervously, “I need you.”

He’s on her in an instant, absolutely feral, hands worshiping every place they can find purchase; in her hair, on her breast, he roams her body wildly. There are teeth at her neck and she doesn’t know if he’s using a trick of the Force physically or mentally, but the results leave her gasping. She presses herself against the sharp sensations of lips and leather, the cold metal and harsh planes of the mask digging into her skin with bruising impact. Rey reaches back as far as she is able, wants desperately to touch him, but her fingers are left clenching restlessly at empty air. “Please,” she’s shocked by the sound of her own voice, frenzied and destitute. How quickly the tables have turned.

Kylo laughs, his grin splayed against her shoulder blade, and there is something so utterly elated and unexpected about the sound – something needy and private she isn’t meant to hear – that her heart breaks a little, though for whom she couldn’t say. Then he descends on her and there is nothing left to say at all.

He opens her wide with two long fingers, letting her twist with want and embarrassment as his eyes roam her swollen center. She can feel each moist exhale against her burning core and the sound of his harsh breathing through the vocoder makes her feel absolutely sinful, decadent beyond belief. A scavenger with one of the galaxy’s most feared men brought low between her legs, offering her pleasure like redemption.

There will be no saving her now.

He thrusts the mask against her, every ridge and dent raking over the aching flesh while the ghost of his lips teases her. The distinct contrast between the leather of the mouth-guard and the frigid metal above plays perfect counterpoint to the hard wet sensation of his tongue splayed between her lips.

The muscle presses flat against her, making her shudder as her body seeks to draw him deeper and through their connection she knows he is mimicking the gesture behind the mask, tongue lapping at the physical barrier between them, mouth hungry and gaping.

He devours her completely, a feast for a man too long starved of affection. He delves into her folds relentlessly, shoulders wedged between her thighs until she is practically straddling him. The hand not occupied between her legs finds her breasts and kneads them with little concern for skill or pleasure, simply seeking to touch her anywhere he can. Rey leans forward as far as she is able, the pain in her arms brings her up short, but she is still well within range for what she wants.

“Choke me.” She feels his surprise and elation at the request through their bond, expects the Force to close exquisitly around her neck. It is to her shock and delight when he reaches up with ease, uses his long limbs to grasp her firmly by the throat, thumb pressed deep into her clavicle.

She takes one last gasping breath, a girl drowning, before his fingers close around her and draw her under. Her muscles shake with tension as she contorts her body in strange angles to offer up to him; a sacrifice at an altar of ruin. He plays her like an instrument, mouth and lips and mask at her center, inspiring each moan and sigh before choking it off ruthlessly before she can begin to scream. His tongue drives in and out of her even as she grinds her hips against the hard ridges of the mask hoping to find purchase.

She cries out unintelligibly as she approaches the edge of her pleasure and thrusts herself against it violently seeking release. The phantom sensations of his lips and tongue are still seated against her, the brush of soft curls teases her thighs, but her climax comes from the hard lines of his mask as she rides his face.

She shouts, curses, half-formed hexes hang in the air as she writhes around him. The hand at her throat tightens deliciously, air closing off and drawing short even as she reaches her peak. Stiff fingers draw burning lines across her core as he bathes himself in her release.

When she finally comes down gasping with relief he lets go of her gently. Even so her legs protest and her arms yearn to be unbound, held too long and too awkwardly. She almost voices this desire aloud, well past the point of pride, but feels him acknowledge her position through the bond, knows he can sense her pleasure and pain as though it is his own.

“Before I let you go,” the promise of freedom thrills and terrifies her, afraid of what she’ll do once she’s loose, what she’ll let him do in spite of it, “you have to clean up the mess you’ve made.”

Suddenly, he’s before her, the only thing she can see, dark and malevolent and looming in her view. Kylo grips her chin, forces her to gaze upward until she’s staring into the face of her nightmares. The mask is absolutely gleaming, covered with her essence, smeared and dripping with her want, and the sight of it makes her pulse with desire as though she were discovering it for the first time.

Rey doesn’t hesitate as he stoops low enough for her searching lips to reach, meets him halfway with her mouth already open. She lands a sloppy kiss on the slick leather of the mouth-guard, imagines the warm pale skin beneath it, and feels him smirk. When she slowly runs her tongue over the same spot the smirk is wiped clean.

She almost can’t believe the absolute wreck she’s made of him, the places she finds herself imprinted on his mask. Her tongue searches every divot and crease, slips between the edges to discover each nook and cranny. He’s gasping beneath her, the hand still at her chin brushing little wanting gestures against her cheek where it should be controlling her every move, but she doesn’t mind his distraction. When she licks the visor clean she imagines him wide-eyed underneath watching her worship the filth he has inspired in her.

Finally, when she least expects it, he releases her and she falls hard to the ground, a brutal reminder of her role in this little game. Her anger and humiliation are quickly superseded by the intense agony of blood rushing into her arms, every point from shoulder to fingertip on fire as her nerves blaze back to life. She chokes out a strangled sob and cradles her limbs against her chest before staring up at him defiantly. From this position he seems impossibly tall and the desire to watch him fall is that much greater.

Kylo stoops low to bring himself to her level, the stance all too familiar. He tilts her head back, admiring the column of her throat, the bruises he has left there, while Rey glares into the bright lights above too stubborn to look away even when he stands and little after-images burn into her eyes. There is the unmistakable sound of a belt being removed, the clatter as his holster hits the floor, the shifting of cloth, and a growl like a menace.

“My turn.”

 

 

 

end part three.

 

 


End file.
